i'm leaving this right here.i'm tired.
i won't make this mistake again.
every tomorrow keeps looking like something else, something new, and i'm grateful. every twenty-four hours, you get smaller.
you're the car i passed on the highway. or you're the car who passed me. i hate metaphors.
you're small. i let you be big for so long, i'd forgotten how you'd grown so large.

the next time i carve out space
for a soul
or a feeling
or a trust
or a thought
it will be worth it.